AUTISM: A POEM

. . . . . VII. Hyperlexia

My son eyed the large wide print
. . . . . stenciled across an interstate billboard.

At three, he’d already taught himself
. . . . . to read over a year earlier, even before

he could tell anyone how well he knew
. . . . . to spell words we had never heard him

speak. My wife and I were surprised
. . . . . once again by the way he said terms

learned through no method we know—
. . . . . on this day reciting lines of a highway

advertisement shining under bright
. . . . . summer sunlight, its gold and red

lettering—“Family accommodations,
. . . . . adventurous activities, and exciting

attractions ahead”—sending a message
. . . . . to tourists that now seems meant more

to us as a lesson we only discovered
. . . . . somewhere farther down the road.